Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

I wish I could savor the coldness just for a little longer. 

      Hands rubbed together as the wind carried its chill, and the withered tree danced with each gust. It was a wonder no man had frozen to death in this northern weather—yet somehow, the frostbitten man moved and flexed as if untouched by the cold’s effects. 

From his pocket, he pulled out a small bag and, with a swift flick, flung carcasses of insects, reptiles, and fish into the snow. 

Soon, wings beat the air above. A beautiful snowy owl descended, landing gently before beginning to feed. The scarce the snow made things these day. 

Another thing done off my early routine. 

He watched until the owl flew off, carrying the largest carcass in its talons. He basked in the sunlight gleaming through the falling snowflakes. Then, turning toward the far-off mountains, the man took in a massive breath and— 

      “AAAAAAAAAAAhhh!” 

      ... 

Suddenly, the air trembled. 

From the mountain he faced, a distant avalanche broke loose and thundered down the slopes—set off by nothing but a voice. So brittle, always, was the balance. 

 And a good exercise to really start off the day. 

The man stretched, limbs yawning toward the pale sun, before heading toward the House of Boreal. He paused—eyes lingering on the distant, glimmering horizon. Then came the click of a door. 

— 

Sparks lit the hearth, brighter than the flame beneath it. 

Metal rang out—steel on steel—louder than the wind gnawing at the world outside. Nuts tightened around bolts until no air remained between them. 

The welding helmet lifted, revealing red hair matted with sweat. She wiped her brow with a hand worn by calluses and smeared with soot, then pressed a button on the nearby contraption. 

It rattled. Shook. Groaned— 

And then, warm milk streamed steadily down into the mug beneath, colliding with chilled chocolate nestled in the cup. It melted, swirled, and softened until all that remained was a perfectly balanced drink: milk chocolate, neither scalding nor cold. 

The redhead inhaled the sweet scent the desert offered. She barely had time to sip her drink when the door clicked open—and in walked a man. 

He ruffled his hair, dislodging frosted strands that fell like sand and clattered onto the mat into shards. A faint warmth clung to his cheeks and nose, barely visible beneath the pale hue of frost. Icy-blue veins glowed faintly around his eyes, like frostbite made of light. 

He flapped his fur-lined cloak, sending a dusting of snow onto the floor before hanging it up. His hands shook the icy plates that armored his northern garb. 

      “Mornin’ to ya, Archmage!” the woman in the yellow overalls called cheerfully, raising a mug of coffee in one hand and a comically oversized wrench in the other. 

      “I would say the same to you, Mechanic” the Archmage replied with a polite nod. He started walking down the hall but paused as she called again. 

      “Care for a cup of Perfect-Temp Chocolate Milk?” she teased, waving her mug. 

      “As delightful as that sounds,” he replied, raising a hand, “I think I'll have to pass.” 

Her smile faded instantly, replaced by a slight frown as she took a cheery sip of her cocoa. "Anyways," she continued, "Heard that feisty was at the forest this mornin'. You might wanna pick up the pace a little if you wish to see 'm."

The Archmage gesture his gratefulness with a wave, "Thank you and will do."

      "No Problem!" She waved as the man exited through the back door and entered a tunnel of ice and frozen stone, lit by torches that lined the path. At the far end, sunlight gleamed through, illuminating a floating blue crystal inside the cavern. 

Standing before the crystal—taller than he was—the Archmage placed his hand gently against its glassy surface. Space itself seemed to ripple. Snowflake particles swirled, obscuring all motion in a spiral of distorted time and space. The crystal glowed and shifted from blue to a leafy green hue. 

The blizzard faded. 

Birds chirped. Critters chattered. Rabbits roamed grassy plains, and squirrels nibbled acorns atop tree branches. The storage room nearby glittered with ornate chests, though dust had begun to gather—its soul long since emptied. The workshop beyond held benches and mythical furnaces, but the fires were cold today, and the hammers lay untouched. 

The Archmage wandered through until he came to a passage carved into a mountain. There, he stepped onto a balcony overlooking the valley. A massive tree twisted high above the structure built into the mountainside. Moss crept along bricks and stone. Nature had embraced this sanctuary. 

Suddenly, someone bumped into him. 

      "Agh—" The man's scream of falling came to a sudden stop, when a cold breeze held his hand. 

      "Are you al—" The man suddenly pulled away from his grasped with a yelp, "Cold—ack!"

      The man frantically breathed the warmth of his body into his cold palm. "Goodness. Not a way I would like to start my day," he muttered.

The Archmage chuckled before slouching to eye-level with the man, waving a hand, "And apologies for sending you that way."

      “Apologies accepted if you tell me about your morning that is.” said a man in a brown coat and wide-brimmed hat, with a bushy white beard and a beanie feathered in white, who stood up and straightened his wears. 

      "Won't be plesant," the Archmage said, stretching his back before giving a slight shrug, "but it is for now." The old man nodded.

      "Glad to hear!"

The word echoed through out the hallway and faded away as they both stood there in the silence of anticipating for the continuation of their conversation, the mood was heavy enough to weigh down a person, though it seemed to affect only one of them. Suddenly, the old man straightened his posture. "Well then...have a nice day, and I'll be on my way—"

His first step bursted forward into a halt—as his shouldered was pulled back by the man in cold in a cheery demeanor “Ah! hold on, I haven't ask you about your morning yet, merchant.”

     “Well, if you’re asking!” The Merchant's joyful mood twisted into a dramatic gloom. “I had a nightmare… Mana drained from the very soul—it was devastating. Our friendly Tax Collector was slain, brutally. It was hopeless, a magicless world—However! They all turned to me for my well-kept stash of Mana Potions! Their needs were vast, and I bathed in gold—Then I woke up... to the harsh emptiness of my pockets!”

The Archmage shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, though a faint smile crept through, “Well, at least the birds' singing soothes your sorrow.”

      “Mhmm... Perhaps.” The Merchant wiped away invisible tears, prompting the Archmage to inquire, "Did the morning flock include a big bird amongst them?"

The Merchant raised his eyebrow with a side-eye at the snow-man, who continued, "...About our size...Maybe perched around this town it built?"

      "Ah! I know what you're talking about, unfortunately I only sell piggies but with a good price I might—"

      "Hold on—I think I forgot my gold at home, I'll be back—"

      "Hey—" The Archmage didn't give the old man a chance before bolting away in a brisk walk, turning around until the old man was no longer within earshot. He walked around the perculiar structures that don't seem to follow normal traditions of physics, like missing support columns. Through the halls he passed, entered the balcony, where he is met with a beautiful sky just out of blue hour, glazing hour of gold. 

      “Did you know, he built his base here because I told him this scenery was beautiful?” The Archmage turned to the spoken man who is basking the rising sun and enjoying the scent of rain, earth and moss. 

      “Being picky isn't a thing to brag about...right?" The ice man crossed his arms as he leaned back to the door then turning to meet the reaction of the brunette...Which turned into chuckles that spread to the snow-haired mage.

      "I see you're enjoying the early today, Archmage." The Archmage just shrugged at the remark of the man, "Might I not be enjoying it as much as you, Guide?"

      "Well, I know you would be more merrier to know he wasn't long here before heading west. Might our friends at the oasis know a thing or two." His response prompted the Archmage to flinch, immediately halting his steps. He turned to the smug Guide, who didn't seem to bat an eye at his chagrined expression...Nonetheless, "Well, my thanks to you and later again."

      "You're welcome." rang through the empty space of the balcony.

At the verdant crystal gleaming before him, the Archmage laid his hand before its surface, the wind howled louder as the leaves raced through the hallway of the buildings, blasting dust and bringing light into the chest and bench. Around the man of blizzard, the swirling forest leaves, punctured away their greens as the particles of sand ripped the swirl of leaves and greens as the wind lose it cool to the heat of the sun. 

The Archmage raised his hand to keep his eyes from the bitsy sandstorm that died around. He flicked his clothes, fondled his hair and shook his body for the residues to come off. The crystal light gleamed gold onto the lemon hue of the sandstone walls. He waste no time, exiting the room and start making his way up the steps that bathe in the hot and bright sunlight. The Archmage raised his hand to shield his eyes as he make his way up, before the sunlight stop its pursuit under the widows of the palm tree. The buzzing of the dragonflies brushed through the massive oasis, bugs pop through the grass and into the water.

Even with the overwhelming coolness, he mused that a minor blizzard wouldn't adversely affect the desert's climate.

Suddenly,

      Snoring...is heard amongst the palm trees. And beside one of their brethrens, lies a man, who donned a trench coat, gleaming the golden cross-necklace, his loud snore rang out again to show his contentment under the harsh weather. but just from beside his neck came a silhouette, daring to shiver sore his throat. And in an instant—

      BANG! 

A gunshot echoed. The Archmage froze. 

Just behind him, a giant dragonfly collapsed with a sickening thud, its green brains splattering across the sand. 

       “You should watch it sometimes, old man,” the shooter muttered before a side of his lip raised, releasing the Archmage’s hand. 

The Archmage scoffed. “So, Ice King, what brings you here?” the man teased. 

      “I’m looking for a certain someone.” He rubbed his hand while flexing them. 

      “Sorry, but the princess is already taken,” he replied, flexing his sleeve-clad bicep. The Archmage rolled his eyes. 

      “Yo, Archmage!” came another voice as a shiny object ricocheted from within the house—bouncing off wooden columns and palm trunks before striking the man in the trench coat and landing neatly in the Archmage’s hand. 

      “Hey! Watch it!” the man grumbled, rubbing his head. 

      “Bandit,” the Archmage greeted, flipping the gold coin in his fingers. 

      “So whatcha doing here?” she asked, voice coy. “Got something interesting? A favor you need?” 

      “Yes. I want to know where he is.” 

      “No clue. But he flew by an hour ago.” 

      “Which direction?” 

She pointed toward the skeletal remains of a behemoth buried in the desert. 

      “Thank you,” he said, flicking the coin at her. She caught it without even looking. 

Once more, the Archmage placed his hand on the crystal. A sandstorm rose up, then faded into sea-blue light. Desert sand merged with soft beach grains. 

He stepped between coral and seashells, listening to the creaking of masts and the chatter of sailors. Whimsically designed ships lined the docks of a beachside village, anchored beneath the shadow of a towering sandcastle. 

So many houses—like a resort. And yet, so few people. Foreigners came and went quickly, leaving the homes untouched. No parties. No memories. Only echoes. 

From a nearby building came a shout. 

      “Hey, Archmage! Looking to warm up that frigid mop on your head?” The redhead with a blue bowtie grinned from the barbershop, flipping her scissors like a butterfly knife. 

      “No, thank you,” he said, raising a hand. She pouted briefly before accepting his rejection. 

      “Anyway, have you seen—” he started. 

Splash! 

Water drenched him. 

      “Amidias!” 

      “You should thank me,” said the merman smugly. “It’s about to get hotter out here.” 

      “So you’re saying—” 

      “Yup. Pale albino blue.” 

The Archmage’s shoulder was suddenly embraced by a wobbly arm. A girl in pink—with a purple crown—took a massive swig of ale. 

      “Looks like he’s going for another hundred attempts today!” she laughed, breath heavy with booze. “Though, I think he might actually pull it off.” 

She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and gave him a sly look. “So, what’s up, Arch-guy?” 

      “Just looking out for him.” 

      “Understandable. He’s been really soft lately. Preachy, even,” she said, crinkling her nose. “But why the sudden interest?” 

      “I just feel like… he’s not him.” 

      “Or maybe,” Amidias said gently, “he’s finding himself.” 

      “Yes, but something about it feels... inconsistent.” 

      “Aren’t we all hypocrites at some point?” the merman countered. 

The Archmage nodded. “True. But something still feels off.” 

Amidias fixed him with a calm, serious gaze. “Then tell me, Permafrost… why do you speak like you don’t want this version of him to exist? Are you afraid he’ll become just another husk? Like the man who once pressed his golden boot upon us?” 

The Archmage said nothing. 

      “I once thought the same,” Amidias continued. “Until I saw him shine—like a torch flaring in a void of endless wind.” 

The Archmage’s thoughts drifted. In the darkness, pink and purple flames flared. He remembered someone—hair like snow—cowering before a silhouetted blade. 

      “I know you’re worried about her,” Amidias said softly, placing a padded hand on his friend’s back. “But I believe she’ll be alright. When the time comes.” 

The Archmage smiled faintly and looked up toward the sky. 

          Hundreds of miles away from the beach and another inside of the island, likes a massive flat land of black gravel like rock, stretching for more than twenty-squared miles. Pillars erected from the border of the asphalt flat land, piercing the heavens above, out of sight. Train rails connect to each other from pillars to pillars, with heart shape lanterns tied to their planks. 

Near the center of the great field, stood a man. 

All-consuming armor cloaked him — leaving not a single gap at his joints, yet enough for the world to meet his gaze. A steel-forged focus split between grinding his blades to ruthless efficiency and listening to the gleam and groan of his war-forged plates. 

The songs of the long-rested gods — a melody of sarcasm, a mask of meanings to all but their liberator and destroyer, who alone could hark to their tune. 

And the soundless sneer from the destroyer to the liberator — the warrior bold enough to wear its cage and tug at the strings of control over its power. 

His shoulder bore a burning Aegis — flames of distorted temperature, like those of a black hole, swirling in harmony with the blue-violet hues of his armor. 

When the grindstone had finished its task, the wings on his boots stirred to life, lifting him toward the true center of the field — marked by the painted red beneath his feet. 

From seemingly nowhere, he drew forth an egg, its shell veined with gold, emerald, and molten red stone, pulsing like lightning in a storm. 

He caressed the divine shell, leaving trails of flame, frost, and poison before crushing it to shards. 

The air trembled before him, bearing a silent message: 

A raging storm is approaching from outside the cosmos 

      He gazed up at the deep blue sky, letting his sight sink further — into the darkened hue where heaven fades into space. Where the stars seemingly fade away, spotted by those who can see subtle. It was just silent... 

A massive cloud of dust burst out high as the area sunken down, all happened before a—BOOM! . .  .  !M  O  O B—a erofed beneppah lla   ,    nwo   b     nekn  us       aera      eh t     s a h   gi   h t  uo t s

r    u   d ts u      b fo b u o   l c          e  v  i  s  s            a   m                   A  

E         L        O        H               K        C        A        L        B 

                       D        is     tor     te    d       e      very    thin      g                to    sin  k        int o      a         spira  l       of        stretch ing         press   ure,           

bursting    the    dust    of      massive     cloud   into   it. But      the  world   fade  back in just for a moment before

                                         Y         T            I           R             A             L           U           G               N             I               S                 

s          t        a      r         te       d         t    o p       u      lle        d itse             lf fr            o                m th            e d i s t o r t e d r e a l m o f t h e d e v o u r e r          f       ee     ding o            n it's outs         ide sel          f fro            m with          in its boun            dar   y u   nt         il eve      ryth           in    g p        hys                ic den             ys illogic    al as log   ical    w   ay for re   ality t   o b   e normal.

      From the center a warrior skidding against the recoil, holding a blade that is steaming from a clash. Opposite of the faceoff is the raging storm who spread its wings catching itself from the clash. A snarl came out of its bill as it glares at the man with its green eye. 

The surroundings shifted to fiery hues, the air heating to an unbearable degree. Flaming pillars erupted along the borders of the vast asphalt field, their flames reaching into the heavens, keeping the combatants within the arena. 

The air crackled with power as the dragon’s essence was channeled into an imminent, devastating force. In an instant, a scorching tempest exploded outward, engulfing vast expanses of land. It was not merely a storm, but an apocalypse unleashed. The sky darkened as the sun was blotted out by the colossal vortex of wind and fire. 

      The beast unleashed a mighty roar toward the warrior, signaling the true beginning of their epic confrontation. 

Yharon, Dragon of Rebirth has awoken 

      An energy pulse surged to life, burning fire to dust. From the dragon’s maw, projectiles lined up and steadily accelerated toward the warrior. His Tracers ignited, blasting him upward as he weaved through the homing onslaught. A flaming sword burst forth from his hand, twirling violently and leaving trails of constellations and stardust in its arc. It carved into the Phoenix, who recoiled under the sting of sustaining cuts. 

With a screech, it lunged—claws outstretched. But the warrior pierced through the strike, quick-drawing his Aegis. A violet blaze engulfed the dragons. And the warrior emerged behind—unscathed. 

Yharon kept the fighter deflecting its flare shots for enough seconds to close the distance. Violently swiping its claw at the hero, who twist around and propelled upward, narrowly dodging a subsequent tail sweep. From his elevated position, a jump kick landed on the phoenix’s head and came momentum to launch himself even higher and away from the beast. 

As the warrior retreated, another wave of Flare Dust erupted from Yharon, pursuing him relentlessly. The Flare Dusts split into multiple streams, surrounding the warrior and leaving him no choice but to parry them with his galaxy blade. Despite his efforts, the sheer number of projectiles overwhelmed him, and was soon engulfed in a massive sphere of fire. 

After the fire-sphere died down, there was nothing left, not even ashes or dust... 

For our fighter has escaped unmark. There wasn’t room to breathe for the man as the dragon lunge at a flick of time with a curled-up claw at his face—A punch, which he deflected... 

Yet the opposing weight to his blade feels—light! The hero swiftly turned around and react to Yharon’s claw with a successful block. Suddenly, fire-crackers blew up near his face, stunning the warrior.  

He recovered from flaming feints to meet a flood of fire at his face. Yharon released all its charged-up fire-breathe and watch as the hero turned into a puff of ashe—smoke?! 

The Phoenix yelped as it a sharp pain melted through its lower back. The warrior pulled and dragged a purple curve broadsword out leaving a wake of purple inferno, eating up the dragons’ flesh. 

      Yharon snarled as it flipped the warrior off its back. The dragon growled, baring its maw at the warrior for his sly quick thinking. 

The warrior shrugged nonchalantly before unleashing a barrage of spinning, curved blade projectiles, like the broadsword he wielded. In response, Yharon conjured a massive wave of flare dust that surged toward the warrior, overwhelming him with its intensity. 

His hand moves to hold a saddle strapped to an everchanging pink to purple and vice versa slime with wings. The slime’s weight drags the warrior down faster enough to leave after images of them both. Successfully evading the dragon’s barrage.  The mount vanishes as the hero pulled out the galaxy blade that whirls at Yharon, who pushed through and catch the man off guard. He slips under the mauling; the galaxy followed the constellation that led back into its owner’s grasp.  

The sound of thunder echoed through the sky, Yharon glare into the warrior’s eye as their flames burned against each other. They recoil from their push as the dragon dodges a blade swing but receive a kick from the man. 

Despite the galaxy blade's ever-growing size, it moved in his hand like a dagger—nimble, precise, deadly. 

      Yharon struck fast, a relentless barrage of claws, punches, wing strikes, and tail swipes. But the warrior rolled through the onslaught, slipping past the chaos and cleaving his blade deep into the dragon’s shoulder. 

Unfortunately, the dragon clamped down on the embedded blade, locking the warrior in close. With a feral growl, it unleashed a flurry of bunny kicks from its hind legs, each blow rattling the man’s frame and scraping chunks from his armor. 

Bracing himself, the warrior anchored his body on the blade’s hilt, twisted upward, and slammed a brutal knee into Yharon’s face. The impact forced the dragon to release its grip. 

In one fluid motion, the warrior somersaulted, pulling his blade mid-air, and swung—but Yharon narrowly twisted back, wings flaring into a spinning retreat. 

          Yet. 

      The hero releases the stored energy within the burning blade. With a cosmic crackle, it fired the Northern Star—the luminous bolt of stellar tore the short distance, crashing into Yharon and blasting it further downward in a streak of stardust and searing flame. 

The phoenix dragon groaned, then recovered into a wide, graceful glide. It drew a deep, scorching breath and exhaled a mighty, humid gale. With each beat of its wings, the wind twisted into a spiraling whirlwind. 

The warrior tried to escape, flying hard—but it was futile. The storm seized him, dragging him into the burning vortex. Hundreds of square kilometers were swallowed by the raging tempest, incinerating everything in its path. 

From the ashen cloud of dust emerged a worm, its mandibles clamping onto the railway tracks like a hook. In one powerful motion, it coiled upward dragging the warrior with it, away from the whirlwind’s deadly pull. 

Then, with a violent snap, the warrior launched skyward blasting through the thunderous ash clouds and soaring into the stratosphere. 

Yharon stood in the center of the burning hurricane, searching through the ashen clouds for the hero. Although he couldn't find the Terrarian, the color of the sky flickered and turned, waving its crimson ponytail every shake. 

The blue sky glowed brightly of that to the yellow-orange flame, it stirred and shaken before relaxing in front of it. It tilts its head; a draconic sound rumbled through its belly into a coo of inquiry. 

      “Bud, you can take the floor beside me, just as cold at where you are— at least gifts you a nice view of the stars.”  

      Yharon snort a bellow of sighs before making its way over to the man in the golden suit. It circled around the back before setting down and wrapping its tail around them both, before settling its head onto the man’s golden lap. 

The man slowly stroked the dragon; his gaze fixed on the stellar expanse before them. 

      “I’ve been hearing songs of the man among the stars lately. His reach has expanded exponentially. Though, like always, I would’ve ignored it…” 

The Phoenix’s frills flicked as it shifted, a silent gesture urging him to continue. It was listening. 

      “Except… his stories have changed. 

      ‘He cured the Star God of its disease, returning it to cleanse the stars anew.’   

      ‘He sealed away the Profaned Goddess and brought stability to countless suns across countless worlds.’   

      ‘He laid our gods’ spirit to rest—from the bowels of the Devourer.’ 

      But not just that… 

      He calmed the rageful, guided the sorrowful, and reasoned with the mad—sending all the spirits of my prisoners’ amalgamation to rest, forever.” ** 

Yharon perk its non-existence eyebrow over the man’s tone. A sense of thrill? Or regret? It doesn’t know for it is still all ears. 

      **“Not once did I hear the words ‘executed’, ‘killed’, or ‘destroyed’. Neither ‘slain’, ‘defeated’, nor ‘exterminated’. 

      I thought he’d changed. Yet my scouts say he still moves forward violently—just as I once did.   

      Still, they confirmed the stories. They’re true. 

      He surely is peculiar, isn’t he?   

      This Terrarian.” ** 

That name... Yharon grumbled at it, lifting its gaze to the man. He patted the dragon’s nape, unbothered by the concerned snorts.  

      “It seems I’ll have to expect our duel a lot earlier… just like I did with him. Haha.” 

Yharon rose abruptly at the dry humo—statement. It crooned and snarled in protest, disagreeing with the path its master had chosen. The man only sighed. 

      “I understand your concern, Yharon. However, I must make it right. You might have abandoned it ages ago. But it hasn’t abandoned me. 

           I have to finish what we started—even if his blade pierces me.” Yharon shook its head and launched a flurry of saliva at beneath of the man’s great helm, then tackled him flat and continued bathing him. 

The man raised his hand to block the dragon’s offense, playfully tapping its snout in a boxing rhythm. Yharon returned the gesture with its paw. 

      “I KNOW that you know that doesn’t wash out, bud. However...” He tapped the underside of his great helm. “Sealed airtight. You’re not licking this off me.”  

      Yharon immediately lost its enthusiasm and dropped its weight onto the man, who had the air knocked out of him—then burst into laughter at the gesture. 

The resplendent Phoenix began to purr, its whine rising. Its slit pupils widened into soft, pleading rounds—trying to beg, with all the cuteness it could muster, for its master to not take the duel. 

The man’s laughter faded. He grew quiet. Gently, he caressed the dragon. “You know I must do it. Our path is fated to intertwined.” 

      Yharon grumbled and seethed at the words its master spouted. Fated? It remembered how he had once dismissed destiny as a crutch for the weak. Yet here he is. Obliged to walk the path it had laid. 

      “Yharon…I understand. But we are each other’s milestone. One of us must fall—for the other to rise. Only then, can I finally confront the one who shattered our lives.”  

The man turned to his companion and stepped in front of the dragon, resting his hand gently on its chin. “Bud, I know you always remember that I always said: destiny is for the weak, too frail to forge their own path. but I choose this duel—not because fate decrees it, but because my will demands it.” 

Yharon’s eyes began to glisten. The man sighed, reached up to his helm, and lifted it off, letting it fall. He looked straight into Yharon’s eyes with his own. 

      “Don’t be afraid. No one is beyond defeat—not even him. So long as they breathe, they can fall. Please, have faith in me. Alright bud?” Yharon tried to break eye contact—but couldn’t. It could only chirp songs of how much it saw in its master’s gaze. Eventually, it dropped its head in defeat. The man chuckled, leaned forward, and pressed their foreheads together.  

      “Good boy.” 

Yharon warbled before seizing the moment, drenching a fresh torrent of saliva across the man’s face.  

      “GAAaaaaAh—! That’s utterly unfair—!” he protested, flailing playfully. Laughter erupted between them, embracing the warmth for so long as time can gift. 

      A twinge of shame gripped Yharon for doubting his master’s resolve. No longer would it waver. The fated duel between them must never come to pass. With his talons, the phoenix-dragon vowed to reforge the inevitability. 

With a forceful puff, Yharon summoned an inward rush of air, its wings carving graceful arcs to weave the currents into a colossal whirlwind. The storm roared upward, towering and widening, its humid fury sparing most of the stratosphere where its prey lingered; the Terrarian. 

As our warrior spiraled high but just further below the dancing field of the Aurora Borealis, where gravity’s pull weakened and the whirlwind’s humid tug faded. He snapped his head back, scanning for Yharon’s pursuit, but only to meet darkness. 

A swift jab to the underside of his helm sent the Terrarian reeling, consciousness flickering before snapping back. The dragon pressed its advantage, unleashing a flurry of claws—crosses and hooking strikes raining down.  

      The Terrarian thrust his blade upward, parrying the onslaught, but Yharon seized the sword in its talons, wrenching his guard open. A brutal strike followed, shattering his helm and hurling him backward. As shards of metal scattered, Yharon unleashed a flare bomb—pinning the hero in a haze of heat. With a guttural roar, the dragon charged again, its blazing form closing the distance in an instant. 

      The Terrarian’s hand snapped forward, hurling his hammer-axe at the charging dragon. The weapon struck Yharon’s head with a resounding clang, splitting some scales. From the wound, three shimmering energy shards erupted, twisting through the air to strike the beast from multiple angles—left, right, and above—in a dazzling flurry. 

      Yharon roared, shaking off the assault with a furious sweep of his wings, but the hammer-axe boomeranged back, cleaving into his flank from behind. The weapon arced toward the Terrarian’s outstretched hand, dragging the reeling dragon closer. Seizing the moment, the warrior lunged, driving his galaxy sword deep into Yharon’s side with a burst of stellar energy. 

With the Terrarian’s galaxy sword lodged in its flank, Yharon seized the moment, lunging to maul the warrior. The hero deftly weaved through the dragon’s slashing claws, his movements a blur of precision. Flipping backward, he gripped the hammer-axe embedded in Yharon’s back and yanked it free, eliciting a roar of pain.  

Yharon spun with startling speed, its massive claw arcing through the air. The strike caught the Terrarian off-guard, swatting him back and sending the hammer-axe clattering from his grasp into the void. 

The hero was nearly thrown from his perch—but at the last second, he caught the hilt of the still-lodged sword. 

They spiraled together, spinning wildly through the sky. Then the warrior shifted, harnessing the momentum to drive both feet into the dragon’s chest—a dropkick burst with azure-violet energy that surged through him like lightning and knocking the dragon off his blade. 

      Yharon snarled within its bellow, before puffing a fiery breath that didn’t last a moment for the hammer-axe clanged right at the back of his draconic cranium. 

As the hero pulled up his aegis for a ramming strike, the phoenix matched the momentum with a powerful flap of its wings. It weaved fluidly around the warrior’s cleave, clamped its jaw around the incoming front kick, and whipped the man forward—only to snap its head back from a rising knee strike. 

In one seamless motion, Yharon caught the hero in its claws. 

Then, with a swift jerk of his golden horns, the hammer-axe went off course—deflecting the counterattack mid-air. The phoenix let out a deep, grumbling warble, staring down at the warrior now trapped like a mouse in a hawk’s grasp. 

      Yharon tightened his talons, locking the warrior in an unrelenting grip as fire swelled in his throat. The Terrarian struggled, clawing against the Phoenix’s strength, fighting to pry himself free. But the beast only snorted at the futile attempts—its breath seething with heat—ready to vaporize the hero in a single, point-blank blast. 

Unbeknownst to the dragon, above them, a surge of energy had begun to gather—silent, unseen, but deadly. It churned and condensed until the Hammer-Axe of Energy spun to life, accelerating to a speed so immeasurable it blurred from vision. 

And then— 

      PANG 

      It snapped into the head of the Phoenix Dragon with a blow so powerful, the sound didn’t echo—it detonated. It rattled the mind of the victim, vibrated the brain of the wielder, and deafened anyone in a mile—for even in space no one can’t hear that chime. 

Our warrior wasted no time assaulting the dragon. Taking back his hammer-axe and curve blade out and dash in. 

Yharon let out a deafning roar that stun the warrior for a second for it to start flapping—pushing the Terrarian back. It flew in a loop, creating a tons of flare dusts that spread in every direction. Despite their natural predictable patterns, you can’t deny their overwhelming number. 

The dragon lunged at the warrior through the chaos, hurling fireballs that the man deflected and blocked in rapid succession—until the beast rammed straight into his gut. With a vicious twist, it hurled the Terrarian into a cloud of flare dust, which detonated and sent him hurtling back toward the beast. In a blur, the Phoenix shattered the sound barrier, snapping the tip of its magma-forged tail into the man’s spine. 

A thousand bombs’ whistling screams rent the skies. The earth trembled under the shadow of a beast vast enough to cover a nation. Clouds ruptured, dissolving into an ashy haze; asphalt splintered and shrieked beneath unrelenting force.  

      This was a warzone—order clashing with chaos, earth scorched by infernal might, victims caught in the grip of their makers. And yet, all of that—   the roaring skies, the quaking land, the apocalyptic fury—paled before what had happened: 

          The beginning of a simple duel. 

      Our warrior was blown away from a blow of the dragon. Twists and twirling from the injuries he sicced the worm onto the railway. With the hook anchoring, he maneuvers more effectively around the narrow gap of the homing flare dust.  

      The Terrarian skidded on the metal rails through the remaining hellfire. Before pulling against the hook, launching himself at the beast. The man swung his blade into the phoenix’ guard, only to receive a push kick from under. Before beasty flew in a loop, raining a bigger hellfire than last one. Resetting their distance to a hundred paces. 

      Yharon glided in wide arcs, his four eyes locked onto the man through the dancing blaze of flare-light. He was buying time, piling pressure on the warrior, waiting for an opening—or forcing one. 

He looped a hellfire again, forcing the hero back further, stretching his endurance thin. All the while, Yharon searched for a crack in the defense, a sliver of opportunity between bursts of hellfire. 

Then—through the searing haze—he spotted the warrior, who had spotted him too. 

For a breathless second, their gazes locked. 

And then—the hero vanished. 

The dragon yelped, like a scraping fork to a plate and like a knife through scales. The Terrarian hold onto the latched blade as Yharon whirled around with a low gutteral growl.  

The fighter drew his blade just in time to parry a sweeping back claw. The dragon lunged, jaws snapping toward the man’s head as its forelimbs jabbed forward in a flurry meant to trap and crush him. 

The assault was relentless—coordinated well enough to force the Terrarian out of dodging and into deflection. But his guard held. Each parry sent tremors up his arm and rattled the beast’s bones with jarring, echoing force. 

Suddenly, Yharon launched into a sweeping aerial loop. The Terrarian retreated on instinct, bracing for the familiar blaze of homing hellfire—but it never came. 

Instead, something gold flashed in his periphery. 

The phoenix dragon burst forward, golden horn leveled like a glance at the warrior’s head. 

A roar then filled the Terrarian’ ears. 

But just before impact—the phoenix’ head jerked off-course. 

A metallic clang split the air. 

Yharon reeled, screeching in confusion, his four eyes locking onto the Terrarian—whose blade still trembled in an arcing guard. It was a split-second reaction, but enough to deflect the fatal strike. The horn had nearly punched through his great helm. 

The hero lunged, seizing Yharon’s horn to anchor himself—then drove his curved blade upward, slipping it beneath the beast’s scales into its throat. The violet inferno along its edge licked at divine flesh, gnawing deeper as he dragged the blade toward the skull. 

A burst of violet flame erupted from the wound. 

Yharon hissed, growled and gagged—a choking, guttural sound—as fire poured from his throat. He thrashed, flinging the warrior away, screeching in agony. The searing blaze wasn’t just in his flesh—it clawed at his mind. 

And then… his own infernal flame consumed him. 

Everything he could see, everything he ever would see, burned away. 

Ashes washed over his vision like a veil, and the scent of rain filled his nose before every sensation burned into crumbling charcoal.  

The sky slowly reclaimed its blue hue, sunlight washing away the last infernal photons. 

The Terrarian landed with practiced grace on the cracked asphalt, boots kissing the ground after a long, silent drop. Through the narrow slit of his helm, he surveyed the field—then pressed a red flask etched with golden tapestry to his lips. 

The potion slithered down his throat like liquid fire. Every wound sealed. Not even a scar remained. His shattered armor pulsed, plates regenerating like living tissue until they melded back to their original form. 

He dashed to the grindstone—steel against stone shrieked as he honed his blade with urgency. Then he paused. 

He looked up. 

The sky was clear. The air crisp. But something was wrong. 

Too quiet. Too still. 

Or—no… not still. 

The wind was moving strangely. 

Wrong direction. Wrong rhythm. Like the world had forgotten how to breathe properly. 

The air… it’s getting warmer around you. 

      The infernal flames gnaw away the air itself, atomizing sunlight into nothing more than molten gold hues. Embers and remnants are swept up by the whirlwind, drawn into the horizon point. The unaware wind, air, clouds, and molecules are all devoured—until every hue is stripped away, leaving only darkness, with the sun reduced to a single dot, like a star among the void. 

Then— 

              !O     O     O     O     O     O     O     O     O     O     O! 

      A thermonuclear shockwave erupts, shattering clouds across miles and miles, melting the very fabric of reality. At the epicenter, the shells of ash are scorched away—shattered into dust. Molten gold and emerald light unfurls through the debris. For it is not just the echo of a shotgun blast that rings in every ear across the world— 

It is the Roar of the Jungle Dragon. 

          Rebirthed. 

Yharon, Resplendent Phoenix has reborn 

      From behind, a flash burst forth—the Terrarian turned around with his blade raised to once again greet his guest. 

The Phoenix Dragon snarled, shimmying off the dust from his newly reformed body. Yharon let out a light grunt, a puff of breath acknowledging the warrior’s progress. 

The Terrarian placed a hand over his heart, offering silent gratitude for the gesture. 

But Yharon growled in return—distant, cold. Snorted at how flattery would not save the hero from what was about to come. 

Compressed flames of the hurricane blasted forward, chasing after our hero—forcing him to launch skyward, breaking into the stratosphere. 

Countless flare-dusts spun out from the beast’s looping glide, painting stars with their trails. 

Hellfire veered astray, scattered and wild, for there was no safe space left for its prey. 

As the Terrarian broke into the mesosphere, Yharon surged after him. In a flash, the distance between them vanished—lightyears might as well have been inches. 

The beast blitzed behind him, its talons grazing the edge of the Terrarian’s greathelm—just a whisper from death—before our hero dove, plummeting earthward atop his pixie slime mount. 

They dropped beyond terminal velocity, air howling past in a sonic scream. 

From the freefall, the warrior unleashed a flurry of golden knives—each one trailing behind in silver arcs, dancing in the slipstream. 

As they struck the Phoenix Dragon, each blade siphoned a sliver of his burning blood, transmuting it into glowing streams of white. 

Those streams whipped back toward the Terrarian, weaving around him in radiant spirals—mending wounds with every drop. 

Yharon warbled a low grunt as the knives struck—annoyed, perhaps, by the Terrarian’s persistent tactics. It was growing redundant. Predictable. 

With a thunderous spin, the dragon unleashed a storm of volcanic debris, sealing off every route of escape. 

The pressure was immense—palpable, crushing. 

      The Terrarian now had to weave through the lingering hellfire below, still hunting like forgotten curses. His position was compromised by falling remnants of flame, each ember a death sentence. 

And above all, he had to keep striking—had to ensure the phoenix’s healing was interrupted. With his curved blade gripped tight, the gluttonous inferno burned into beasty’s divine scales. 

Flare dust blasted away his armor in showers of sparks as the Terrarian dismounted, his boots scraping against the asphalt. He slid forward, kicking off the ground in a blur, weaving around the falling remnants of fire. 

It was like a soldier running through a warzone—dodging explosive fire and hidden landmines. 

Each remnant hit the ground with a violent burst, sending mini-flaming mortars scattering in every direction, forcing the hero to split his focus just to stay alive. 

Soon, the chase led the Terrarian to a dead end—the edge of a rising lava-fall. 

Yharon dashed forward, a blur of flame and fury, and in a single, brutal charge, the dragon bull-rushed the surprised warrior. 

The impact sent the Terrarian crashing into a flaming pillar, which immediately pulled him upward, lifting him into the sky like a puppet caught in a molten whirlwind. 

Just above the clouds, the Terrarian erupted from the burning pillar, launching himself onto the metal railways beneath. 

Nearly all his armor had been reduced to molten slag, and his flesh was seared and blackened—like a victim of an inferno left to burn. 

      Yharon followed in hot pursuit, fireballs hurling toward him with deadly precision. 

Yet, despite all bones and no muscle, the warrior’s strength remained unbroken. His expression, unyielding. With each incoming missile, he parried the blasts, his motions flawless—never once betraying an ounce of fatigue. 

His injuries put inquiries into the mind of Yharon. He crooned low, a rumble of curiosity, laced with unease at the possibility of this man being not a man at all. Injuries like those would be fatal to anyone already. 

Then came the hammer-axe. He hurled it with explosive force toward the dragon. 

But Yharon met it head-on—knocking it aside with the twist of his horn, then with it, charging through the sparks to end this. 

The Terrarian met the onslaught head-on, dashing into the pursuit with his aegis raised. 

He moved like instinct forged by endless war—slipping through the dragon’s brutal barrage. 

A jabbing strike. A twirling tail swipe. A crushing hind-leg kick. All deflected, all denied. 

Our hero fanned out his knives in a glint of silver fury—and retaliated. 

He darted in beneath the dragon’s guard, slashing and stabbing at Yharon’s exposed belly, each strike drawing sparks and flame. 

All the while, he ducked and weaved, dodging the beast’s grappling talons that clawed for him like snares of death. 

      Yharon roared, whirling around in a blur of fire and feathers—snapping at the nimble warrior, who carved opportunity into every heartbeat. 

Each time the dragon struck, the Terrarian slipped just out of reach—only to bury another blade where it hurt. 

Yharon tasted it—an all-too-familiar energy, twirling just beyond his vision. 

In a flash, its wings cloaked himself in a burning force field—fire snapping across his scales like a living armor. 

But then the Hammer-Axe of energy spun to life, slicing through the air with a deafening toll. It struck him head-on. Even behind his shield, Yharon couldn’t deny the power behind it. 

It staggered. A humid gale welled in his throat, the beginnings of a catastrophic breath— 

But before it could erupt, the Terrarian blinked into view. 

He vaulted past the dragon’s guard, dropkicking Yharon’s jaw shut mid-breath. The blast died before it could live. 

And in that same motion, the warrior drove his blade upward—piercing straight into the dragon’s appendix. 

The man swung his Galaxy Blade—but it struck only air...In that breath of overextension, Yharon struck. Three blunted horns slammed into the warrior’s chest, launching him higher into space. 

He barely regained posture when he felt it—an odd air current, curling unnaturally down his neck. 

Instinct flared. He backstepped, bracing for a bullet hell— 

But it wasn’t that. It was the phoenix dragon, charging. 

      The Terrarian snapped his blade up, catching the blow. They staggered, their power clashing. Then the dragon spun—his tail sweeping in like a guillotine. The warrior lifted his sword to meet it— 

But no impact came. The scales never touched steel. Instead, a burst of flame descended on his vulnerable stance, forcing him back. 

He parried what flares he could, eyes darting—searching for the dragon, who now moved with tactical unpredictability. 

The warrior let himself endure a claw swipe to the chest, zeroing down their distance. He lunged back, striking— 

But Yharon’s rhythm was broken. His pattern arrhythmic, chaotic. Every plan collapsed into reaction—guesswork, retreat, defense. The Terrarian fought just to buy time and drinking it to restore his health. 

The Phoenix shrieked—and six flare dusts locked on, spiraling after him. They whirled into a humid storm, tightening around him like a trap. 

The temperature rose. Volcanic clouds wrapped him, hot as the inside of a furnace, sparks tracing lines across his skin. 

Then—opportunity. 

Our man blasted upward, breaking through the ashen haze. 

His tracers flared, wings flapping with the maximus of strength—he pierced the smoke curtain. 

But beyond it... 

Only the Phoenix Dragon waited. 

...What— 

Yharon’s bill pierced through his guard—breaking his posture and snapping its jaw on his shoulder. 

Our hero can feel a low, grumbling laugh echoed from the dragon’s throat—feral, triumphant. The sound of a predator outsmarting its prey at the height of the hunt. 

The beast snort in glee for he has forced our warrior into retreat, stealing his focus for just a heartbeat— 

A realization our hero recognized before— 

The wind howling violently across his body, dragging them both downward in a spiral of fury. 

They were diving. Hard. 

The atmosphere lit up around them, streaking with flame and color— 

A comet crashing toward the earth. 

At this speed, not even the air could slow them. 

And worst of all— 

The Phoenix Dragon gripped him tight, shifting him into position— 

But our warrior couldn’t give up now. Not here. Not ever. 

With every strength for he could wiggle, his feet surged upward— 

Blessed by progress, the kick struck Yharon square in the head, stunning the beast for a fraction of a second. 

It was all he needed. 

In that fleeting moment, he pried open the dragon’s thumb talon— 

And they both began to wrestle. 

Falling beyond terminal speed, locked in a death spiral. 

Then— 

The tide turned. 

The Terrarian climbed up Yharon’s horn, anchoring himself like a flag in the storm. He seized one of the dragon’s wings, yanked it back with a roar, and drove his knee into the beast’s spine— 

Reversing their positions. 

Now Yharon faced the ground. Now he was the shield. 

But— 

Pressure exploded through the warrior’s chest. 

Something pushed through his nerves, searing, alien— 

A magma spear. 

The tail. 

      Yharon whipped its head around and slammed it into the man, dazing our warrior. Then, with terrifying grace, the Phoenix spun— 

Wresting back control. 

Once again, the Terrarian found himself staring at the earth— 

Not just the surface, but all of it—its rivers, its forests, its mountains and storms. 

And with the weight of a dying star, Yharon shoved him downward. 

Toward the core. 

      “The water isn’t cooling me down,” Amidias muttered, fanning himself lazily with one hand. 

      “Then perhaps I’ll ease in with a little touch of frost?” Permafrost offered, raising his hand as a chill mist curled from his fingertips. 

      “Just don’t freeze me into a royal relic.” 

The archmage barely lifted a finger when the earth began to tremble. The water jolted violently, then rippled with such force it launched Amidas out of the water. 

The archmage rushed to catch the airborne mermaid—but the quake didn’t stop. It was like a cascade of shockwaves colliding across the globe, not simply shaking the world but trying to tear it apart. 

Then—just as it seemed the planet would split in two—all that seismic force focused into a single, cataclysmic act: erupting through thousands of volcanoes across the world. 

Ash and flame smothered the sky, a blazing inferno threatening an apocalypse. But the firestorm didn’t last. Nor did the long-feared ice age come. A shockwave—colossal and divine—burst outward, blasting away the volcanic smog and storm clouds. The skies over the water domain cleared violently, like curtains ripped open. 

The shockwave rippled around the globe. It compacted ash and molten debris into dense stone mid-air. Massive chunks of cooled volcanic rock rained down, crashing into the ocean. Each impact sank deep—until a new archipelago of magma and storm crowned the heart of the sea. 

The quakes triggered tsunamis across the world, immense walls of water rushing to swallow the continents. But before they could, volcanoes erupted underwater, shattering the waves and tearing holes in the sea floor. Water funneled into the depths, draining into vast, newly opened caverns. Sea levels dropped drastically. The tsunami collapsed before it could reach the land. 

Then—silence. Until the molten archipelago itself shifted violently, cracking the earth. A second tsunami surged forth, rising high and crashing down upon countless shores. It restored the ocean to its former level—but left the world utterly changed. 

      “What attack did he get from the dragon now?” 

      “First my eardrums nearly exploded. Now we’ve skipped an extinction event and fast-forwarded a million years. Congratulations to our hero.” 

      “Looks like the orange sky isn’t the only problem anymore.” 

      “Hey, at least the sandstorm stopped.” 

      “And the blizzard too.” 

      “We’ve got avalanches everywhere, though.” 

      “I wonder how the empire’s holding up.” 

      “Or how many harpies, wyverns, or whatever else in the sky just dropped dead from that.” 

      “That’s... not good.” 

      “They don’t call it the god-dragon for nothing.” 

      “Should’ve told him to fight it in the distorted realm.” 

      “Agree to disagree.” 

      “If that dragon wins again... I don’t think we’re walking away this time.” 

      The air reeked of friction. Asphalt scraped and groaned, releasing debris that drifted upward with the steam, parting slowly—slowly—until it vanished above the clouds. 

Then, the sky wept. 

Rain poured over the desolated land, filling the silence with a gentle hiss. 

No crater marked the ground. The vast field—crafted by the hero’s own hand—remained whole, unbroken. But by the laws of physics, when a movable object meets an immovable one, something must give. 

And this time, it was the hero. 

Nothing of him remained. 

The dragon made sure of that. 

      Yharon rose from the wreckage, inhaling the hot mist and the bittersweet scent of rain. His eyes scanned the horizon—wary, watchful. As if even now, he doubted the silence. 

His frills flicked upward.    He sensed something. 

Through the steaming fog that blinded his vision, he scanned the shadows. He huffed, then puffed—charging with the residual energy left from his devastating dive. Silhouettes loomed in the haze: beast, man, mountain... and shapes only imagination could craft from the swirling dark ash. 

He approached the center of impact. There, outlined in scorched black on the ground, was a humanoid shape—flattened into the ash like a shadow burned into existence. 

Yharon leaned in, snuffling the outline of the fallen warrior. He snorted at the scent, crooning low in contemplation. No heartbeat. No trace of life. Nothing but silence and ash. He sniffed again, gently, then dragged his tongue across the asphalt—tasting... 

Ash. That’s all it was. 

      Yharon licked his beak clean, wiping away the remnants. His mind still reeled from the energy he had unleashed. But slowly... slowly, his senses began to return. A stinging sensation crept up his throat. 

He reaches to scratch away itchiness. 

Clink. Clatter.    Something pricked off his neck, scraping against the asphalt. Recognition flickered in his eyes. Knives— 

Then, the shadow moved. 

With a sudden shove, more blades drove upward into Yharon’s throat. A scorched figure rose beneath him—charred, barely human, but alive. In a swift motion, the man uppercut the dragon away. The blades glowed with radiant energy as they returned to their master, slowly healing the warrior's broken frame. 

The dragon caught himself midair, eyes blazing as they locked with the impossible gaze of the man who refused to marry death. 

      Yharon narrowed his green eyes as he spotted something glowing within the human’s chest.   A metallic device had lodged itself deep into the warrior’s torso. Silver linings wrapped protectively around a core—spherical, spinning, and pulsing with a violet-blue energy… one hauntingly like that of the Devourer. 

The core began to spin faster and faster, until—   Boom.   A beautiful burst of nebulous light erupted outward, echoing across the battlefield. The man’s body surged with regeneration, shedding his image as a charred victim.    His armor rematerialized, gleaming with new life, and as the last wisps of  energy faded, the warrior calmly reached into his chest, pulled the core free, and tucked it away. 

Then he drew a blade of crimson blood.   Lightning flickered along its edge. The sword vibrated so intensely it almost looked still—its sharpness so absolute, you can see it cut through your feels. 

      The warrior took his stance again, silent, steady…   

Ready to face the dragon once more. 

      Silence whispered louder than the rain, sizzling to vapor against the searing asphalt. The sky, the clouds, the grass and trees—even distant asteroids beyond the solar system—were stripped of hue. 

  The Phoenix Dragon had accepted the warrior’s invitation to dance. Every ounce of energy—its last infernal photons to its flickering aura—was absorbed back into its source. 

Now, people will believe in the boogeyman, for even the sighted are more lost than the blind when plunged into the pitchest of all nights. The world has sunk into a colorless abyss, for the only star that dares shine in the sky tonight…  

is our sun. 

The only thing the warrior can make out of his opponent was the silouhette of the beast glowing eyes and mouth. Other than that, he can’t make out the form of the phoenix. Itsy bitsy of flames sear from the inside making the bird more of a ghoul. Unfortunately, the dragon moved back to the curtain of shadow, disappearing from his sight fully. 

A glowing skull suddenly appeared, it whirls excitedly around his head, the rain drop passed through the skull as if it was a ghost. Such a wisp thing. Its light reflected through the droplets of rain, giving back color to our hero. 

The Terrarian took flask of orange juice in his hand before downing it—Instantly he turned to clashed with a dark blob, its form surrounded by a red aura, highlighting its body. 

The shadow let out a draconic roar and hurled him backward. The beast’s talon shifted into molten gold—scraping against the crimson blade of thunder as raw meet bar. 

      Yet...  

         Darkness—is all our hero saw.  

                  Everything.  

                              Shadow.  

         The pace had broken past the luminal spectrum—diving into the shadows. Even with the beast’s silhouette highlighted by the potion, it was everywhere.

   Behind.

 In front.

 Beside.

 Beneath.

 Above.

 Next to.

  Between.

 Under.  

      Cornering. 

      The crimson blade couldn’t match the dragon’s league of speed.  But it was blessed—light, flexible, fluid—enough for our hero to cover every direction in a single swing. 

Yet he fell suddenly into a feint—and was punished. A claw struck, exploding the wound, and from it erupted fireballs that chased him down like hounds. 

Before they could collide—    His body distorted—    Clink—His tracers tapped onto the railing as a trail of violet-inferno haze tore past him.   But the explosion hadn’t reached its climax—before a blast of heat tore him through the railings and downward. 

He twirled and spun, caught in the air—until he shifted his course, seizing the opportunity in the now fully bloomed explosion. The shockwave launched him upward. 

His crimson blade glowed, pulsing against the barrage of dragon’s breath.    In no time, the shots grew more frequent—until they were relentless.  The breath shifted from bursts to a continuous beam of fire. 

      Unparriable. 

          Our hero dashed away, pulling out his curved blade, turning just in time to bat the beam.   

        The energy built—violet and gold fading into white—just before it exploded as he hit a home run.  

      Yharon’s entire beam of Dragon’s Breathe became tainted by the blade’s inferno—Its throat erupted as its infernal immune system purged the disease—stunning the beast in the process. 

For a split second, a barrage of twirling violet scimitars enveloped its front.   They tore through the beast in a flash, fading into the dark— 

The hero swiftly twirled, deflecting the beast’s wing strike—its full weight, imbued with divine gold, rattled his posture despite the perfect parry. 

Without pause, he shifted into the stance of the Eastern Blade of Honors.  The mechanism at his hip roared to life, spewing infernos—pushing him forward, ever so slightly, like an engine revving beneath its rider, eager to purge everything in its path up the highway through hell. 

The armor snarled, violet energy crackling as the eyes on his great helm pulsed to life. Their pupils scanned the battlefield—then the world warped.  Silence died, for there was no space left for it in the arena. 

They moved like ghosts—between the tangible and intangible. You couldn’t touch them, but they could touch you. 

Metal sparked like fireworks in the sky: amethyst against gold. The heavens bloomed with a thousands of thousand flowers, so brilliant that an entire nation may mistook the catastrophe above for divine blessing. 

Deflecting the beast’s talons had grown easier, yet the gulf of speed remained unchanged.   Our hero blinked through space, reappearing in a blur—everywhere at once. 

Still, Yharon overwhelmed him, wings striking like hammers wreathed in dragonfire. Stray fireballs burst wild with each impact, but the man carved out safe space to move—thwarting the blaze with swift arcs of his crimson blade, fanning shockwaves into the wandering fireballs. 

Death is an acquaintance. 

      The Terrarian had swatted away the reaper’s hand long enough to understand the beast’s rhythm. He struck forward, seemingly overextending—inviting the Phoenix Dragon’s wing to cleave him in retaliation. 

But it was a ruse. Mid-strike, he pivoted, converting offense into defense. The momentum reversed; the phoenix's massive wing ricocheted off his poised blade. 

They warped through the air, chasing angles, shifting positions, seeking advantage in every fleeting moment. One misstep. One flourish. Our hero slipped—allowing the beast to descend with a sweeping strike from above. 

He raised his blade to parry—only for Yharon to feint. 

And yet— 

          The Phoenix bled. 

The deflected force became a counter, a redirected flow. Not separate motions, but one seamless transition. 

A shield within a spear. A spear within a shield.  As if wielding a guarding yari or a charging targe. 

A fighting style no longer split between strike, block and counter. No longer he had to guess the unpredictable of the beast.    For this is perfectly balanced—   Fit for a warrior standing against gods and flame alike. 

And the beast immediately changed pace upon realization, overwhelming the hero with a massive burst of speed, leaving the human stranded in a cramped pocket of air. Every ounce of effort that had once driven them forward now diverted to mere defense. 

The sound of metal sparked and crackled rapidly, like a solid block ricocheting within a vortex grinder. Afterimages split—then split again—fragmenting into more and more until they became an amalgamation of blur. A tornado not only shredding skin, but unraveling focus itself. 

Suddenly, a talon lashed out from just behind our hero—so fast, so sudden—striking the unsuspecting warrior with an offbeat attack. A blow so erratic, so alien to the rhythm of the battle, it became chaos disguised as strategy. Perilous not for its strength, but for its unpredictability—neither evadable nor defensible. A surprise strike—like a pop quiz from the Lord that even He hadn't prepared Himself for. 

The claw sparkled, like Fate weaving a period with a final smash of its gavel, like a— 

      CLANG! 

      The vibration was like an unsuspecting dream, a man-made miracle—one that not even the Norns, the Moirae, or the absolute logic of basic continuity, where two cannot believe that one plus one could result in anything other than itself. 

Stupefied—the Terrarian moved on from his supercalifragilisticexpialidocious deflection, but Yharon still lingered on. The warrior delivered a roundhouse that shattered the beast's posture. 

Then... the clouds wept slower, their tears turning to droplets that floated in the air... 

The crimson blade rained down like a pouring waterfall of blood. The number of slashes exceed the number of feathers on the beast’s skin, before our hero would let the beast recovered from its’ stun. He locked his katana in its scabbard—before a round loaded into its chamber as the Terrarian pulled his devil trigger.  

      Yharon roared in pain as a massive lined painted from its left wings to its right appendices. The infernal flame smoken out as our hero burst out of it with his blade piercing the oxygen— 

After images surrounded the Terrarian, the golden molten sharp gashing him apart. He immediately whipped his blade around deflecting most of it, yet he couldn’t move an inch out his current position.  His engine depleted of energy, so he draws out his survival, parrying, deflect and defense. 

Before he even felt it, the space between his head and his body began to split. The air, the color—everything within that sliver of space opened up, slowly. He raised his aegis and dashed, just as his previous position was cleaved open, leaving a wound in the planes itself. 

The infection of the wound gnawed at the fabric of reality itself, the dragon’s fire burning like alcohol on cloth. Embers wandered like floating bombs, drifting through the air. The wound stretched for a sliver of a mile. 

Our warrior distanced himself from the catastrophe, scanning the surrounding darkness for his opponent. Suddenly, he blasted into a backflip, firing a flurry of violet scimitars at the charging beast midair. 

The barrage forced the dragon to weave and spiral, its momentum pulling it further away. As the distance between them grew, Yharon whirled back, his wings gleaming with molten gold once again. He spun erratically, then hurled himself forward in a massive burst of speed. 

The divine cyclone of burning wings clashed against the Terrarian’s blade, the impact staggering him just enough for Yharon to grasp him under its talons. Then they blasted off—away...  

          Away... 

                          Away... 

                                                      from the sun— 

                  until the stars around them stretched into infinite lines. 

  Finally,  

      they stopped,  

          and the Terrarian found himself floating in the cosmos. 

      He looked around, noticing how the galaxies twisted and moved like worms, like a chaotic mesh of childish paintings smeared across the heavens—an ever-shifting image that dared you to comprehend it with mortal understanding. 

But if you relaxed and let your feelings guide you, you would see:  It was the Star God,  

                          Astrum Deus. 

      The great astral beast cooed at its savior—our Terrarian—who simply waved back at his former, hard-fought patient.

  Yet before he could exhale relief, a shadow hiding in the endless night lunged at him. 

He parried the strike, keeping his balance as the darkness around him churned. Focused now, he scanned toward the direction he had been thrown, all while fending off the ferocious strikes snapping at his face. 

Soon, he found it—a void at the center of the galaxy, with a single lonely star burning at its heart. 

Metal sparked and screamed as the dragon’s fury bore down on him, battering him across the heavens. For a moment, an opening:   

He caught a glimpse—Yharon charging at him, horn first, a comet of molten gold. 

Reality itself bent—the blue particles of teleportation trying to relocate him back to his solar system—but... 

      The beast followed.   

      Not by teleportation.   

          By sheer speed. 

      Yharon crashed into him, bullrushing the Terrarian down through the Earth's atmosphere. 

Blade grinding against horn, they blazed across the sky like a falling star. 

The beast knocked him aside, warping behind him with terrifying precision, cleaving downward with molten wings in a finishing strike. 

But just before the fatal blow landed— 

      Sunlight returned. 

After eight long minutes the photons have finally arrived at the planet, the first blinding ray of dawn broke over the Terrarian, cloaking him in light. 

      And from within the light—   

A foot struck Yharon square in the face. 

Yharon lashed out with its claw, but the warrior slithered around its arm and leeched onto its back. The dragon snapped its head back, jaws wide—but the man leaned away just in time, dodging the bite before driving a punch into its eye, making the beast reel in pain. Yet the sting in its eye was nothing compared to the burning in its wings—the Devourer's inferno gnawed at its mind like a sickness. 

It was only then Yharon realized: the wind had vanished. 

They were falling. 

Their silhouettes plummeted beneath the brilliant blue sky. The phoenix-dragon roared, thrashing to shake the man free. But the warrior struck again, punching the beast before drawing his galaxy blade and slamming it against its side. 

      Yharon twisted, using the momentum of the warrior’s swing to throw him off—but the man fired his worm hook midair, yanking himself back onto the dragon’s back for another strike. 

The ground rushed into view—black asphalt like a grave. 

In a flash of instinct, the Terrarian reversed their positions, mirroring Yharon’s last devastating attack. With a brutal rip, he tore the blade free from the dragon’s spine and brought it down once more onto its charcoal scales. 

The phoenix caught the blade with both talons. They struggled for dominance, but the warrior overpowered the beast—the galaxy blade ignited, rocketing them both downward, accelerating past the terminal fall. 

      Yharon’s wings, half-mended, flailed in futility. For the first time, the dark phoenix faced the same fate it had once delivered. 

The blackened earth met its black, feathered body with a thunderous impact. 

A supervolcanic burst of debris exploded into the sky—a massive dark cloud, filled with spores of orange, blue, and violet. The air itself turned toxic, as if Mother Nature had birthed her own radioactive storm.  

Monumental pillars erupted from the earth, thrust upward by a force that shattered the soil below. Alien heat radiated from the stone, molten extraterrestrial lava spewing from the colossal spires that grazed the heavens. 

      The fog was suffocating, breathtaking, weaving an eerie yet majestic tableau. It felt like glimpsing a creature stirring within the smoke of a forest fire or a monstrous silhouette looming through a blizzard’s veil, its dread-inducing form fading as consciousness slipped away. Even if you survived, no savior would believe your tale. 

      The catastrophic pillars spiraled outward, like cracks radiating from a shattered pane of glass. At their heart lay the galaxy blade of our hero, glowing and pulsing like a living heart. Each throb widened the earth’s fissures, spewing smoke and filling the air with a venomous haze that could intoxicate even the titans of legend. 

      Above the impact’s core, a shockwave roared, flames erupting to blast the smoke skyward, shrouding the heavens in a dark veil. Yet the toxic fog surged from the fissures, swiftly reclaiming the air. 

      From the mist, Yharon emerged, unfurling his wings with a snarl. He inhaled the poisoned air, then snorted and sneezed, realizing the danger of lingering. Even his divine resilience wouldn’t shield him forever—centuries, perhaps, but not eternity. It wasn’t worth the risk. 

The dragon beat his wings and soared higher and higher. Just as he prepared to take away the blue of the sky with his infernal flames, a flash of amethyst streaked by. A gust of displaced wind brushed his feathers — and his entire body rattled against the hard surface from the left. Then, the pain begins to flare through his right organs. 

Heaving and puffing, Yharon dragged himself from the crater—debris and dust cascading down the towering, mountainous pillar... 

The battle had ascended to new heights. 

The phoenix scanned the arena, searching for the source of its pain—when it heard the tapping of metal against stone.    It turned, catching just a glimpse of violet-red before its chest burst open from a massive slash. 

      Yharon blasted away from the pillar, soaring above the center of impact. Skimming the ruins, he caught the roar of an engine behind him and turned— 

          only to find nothing—   

      Another slash carved deep into his gut. 

Red and violet — that was all the dragon saw, flashes just outside his field of vision.   

His body, mighty as it was, now bore countless gnarly wounds.   

He roared, flapping his wings in a mighty gust, blasting away the mist to see— 

Dozens of Terrarians, swarming him like bees around a wasp.  

      Before Yharon could react, crimson blades flashed. 
Cuts rained down across his body. 

In rage, he cloaked himself in searing flames. A tornado of molten air burst forth. 
He summoned flare dust to chase the intruder — but it failed to catch him. 

      The Terrarian danced across the battlefield, weaving between colossal monoliths and through the smokescreen of fog. 
His engine roared, accelerating him to speeds that tore his afterimages into a thousand soldiers, bouncing across the ruined ground. 

      Above,

  below,

    besides,

  behind,

  between,

 over,

 corner.

      Our warrior was truly giving the beast a taste of its own medicine. 

All the beast's projectiles and movements proved futile against the Terrarian's incredible speed. It could only cower behind its guard, waiting and watching as their elusive foe warped in and out around the mountainous pillars, running along their surfaces like a shepherd surveying vast hilly plains with his dog, leaping over lava flows as if they were mere rivers under a summer sky. 

Then, the Terrarian blasted off, vanishing behind another monument. The moment Yharon lost track of him, it turned to find itself surrounded by a multitude of armored figures. Its talons lashed out, swiping and smashing them into nothingness, yet it was still struck. It was like a tribe of hunters slowly exhausting their prey before making the final pounce on the king of the jungle. 

But Yharon was the Phoenix Dragon. It waited until the warrior surrounded it once more before huffing deeply. With a single, mighty flap of its wings, a massive cyclone of sun-melting flame erupted, vaporizing everything in the immediate area— 

Only to be met with the bite of an unholy offspring, disowned by both the heavens and hell. Its power: to drain the very essence of those who birthed cosmos and maternal Life, and even the solace of Death. 

      Yharon coughed as the Terrarian drove both of his legs into the beast's guts, feeling its flames vanish, devoured by the brutal dropkick. 

  The dragon crashed through the previous monolith it had just left and slammed into another behind it. The beast growled softly, absorbing the pain. It couldn't deny that the Terrarian had somehow managed to emulate the forbidden ability of that cursed wyrm. 

The speedy figures scattered and lunged. The dragon unleashed a massive torrent of fire, engulfing everything before it. Yet, it didn't melt the monolith it had crashed through, which their agile enemy used for cover, moving to the next, seeking an opening to attack. 

      Yharon observed the swift warrior speed behind it, timed its move perfectly, and warped above the figure midair, charging straight down before unleashing a tidal wave of scorching flame. Only to have its breath knocked out by a powerful force slamming it downward. 

It found the Terrarian on top of it, raising and plunging knives into its chest. The blades absorbed its vitality and inner energy. Yet, the beast began mauling the hero, scraping his armor. However, the Terrarian pressed his hands together, their shape shifting, before clenching his fists close and pulling. The knives suddenly glowed red before exploding. The shrapnel pierced through Yharon's scales, so close yet so alien. It felt as if the fragments were made of crystallized infernal flames. Its body tried to reabsorb what was no longer its own. 

The fragments remained embedded in Yharon. Its regeneration couldn't expel the shrapnel, for it was its own infernal energy, yet twisted. The only way to reclaim the lost energy was to turn dark. 

      No, Yharon couldn't turn dark— 

      For that was what the Terrarian wanted— 

And Yharon didn't want what the Terrarian wanted. 

      Yet—must! To dangerous. 

      Tide! Yharon will turn. Now! 

      A deathly shriek rumbled from deep within the beast’s throat, shaking the very air. 
Above, the sun began to shrink—smaller and smaller—until it was nothing more than a speck among the stars. 

Our hero had successfully plunged himself into the pitch-black void, the realm where the beast was at once its strongest... and its most vulnerable. 
If the dragon were allowed to die and rebirth once more, it would become a force he wouldn’t be capable to defeat. 

      The Terrarian had only one shot. 

  He landed atop a railway track, crouching low as he clutched the rails for balance. He quickly downed another orange potion, then drew the velvet katana from his side. His eyes skimmed the broken arena, searching for any trace of the draconic beast. 

Spotting it would have been impossible for us—even with the colorful fires glowing from the fissures below—courtesy of the galaxy blade, casting more light than before, when only the cold flame of his skull wisp pierced the dark. 

    But from our hero’s point of view...  

      There! A flicker of movement—so distant it looked like a speck from a laser pointer—betrayed the beast's position across the vast battlefield. 

Our hero locked his sights onto the beast, his gaze sharpening like a cat stalking its prey. He pounced from the railing, blasting after the distant silhouette. 

But suddenly—a low, crackling rumble split the air, like a mythic creature stirring after a slumber that had lasted since the birth of the world. 

Before he could react, the Terrarian felt his body snap sideways with a brutal whack, whiplashed by an unseen force. The roaring air pressure slammed him into the solid rock that had struck him. Instinctively, he clung to the massive slab as it hurtled forward—riding it like a ragdoll caught in a carousel spun by a beast the size of an island. 

Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up onto all fours. His head snapped back, catching—through the flickering blue light of his wisp—the colossal surface of a monolith, torn from the earth by the rise of his galaxy blade, now gleaming amidst the chaos— 

    Crack!  

      The Terrarian curled into himself as he was crushed between two titans—one moving, one stationary. A deafening crack split the air as both giants shattered into hundreds of fragments. Acid-hot lava spewed skyward, splashing through the darkness like colossal fireworks bursting against the pitch-black night. It didn’t fall like rain; it exploded , hissing and steaming as molten drops rained down. 

The glow of the lava mixed with the eerie blue light of the wisp, painting the ruins in surreal, shifting colors. Amidst the chaos, as debris cascaded all around him, the Terrarian moved with uncanny ease—hopping, weaving, and sprinting across the falling wreckage. 

The molten rivers lit his path, but it was his unbreakable focus that carved his way through the catastrophe. 

Reeling from the crushing damage between two mountains, he yanked out a red potion and— 

    Whack!  

      Before he could even drink, his body seized and splattered against what felt like the entire planet.

  Then—like a rocket igniting—he blasted into the sky. 

He barely managed to raise his Aegis, bracing as the earth itself hurled a spear of stone at him. 
The massive lance crackled through the air, its roar echoing like the scream of a dying world— 
—and just as the tip exploded into shards, Yharon struck. 

The dragon bull-horned him midair, slamming into his chest with a force that punched him higher, driving him past the clouds, toward the searing edge of the thermosphere. 

The beast circled behind and rushed the man with its imbued talons. Our warrior fanned his knives, deflecting the claws, and sometimes slipped in a counter, driving his blades through the scales, healing from its draconic vitality. 

      Yharon snarled, then blinded the hero with a smoke screen of ashes before letting the fighter taste its dragon’s breath— 

Instantly, sharpness pierced down the phoenix’s spine from above, before its body was infested by a burst of wretched inferno. The Terrarian rolled off the beast as it swung back, throwing his hammer-axe. 

The hammer whizzed into space as Yharon blitzed behind the hero, who then pierced behind him with his aegis, before the galaxy blade rose from the earth and rocket at the speed of constellations—piercing its blocking talons to grazing its cheek. The hero then plunged his knives into its shoulders. 

The dragon shrieked and spun around to gift the man a punch for his efforts. Our hero then deflected the beast’s wing cleave as it dodged his returning hammer and weaved through his violet scimitars before grappling his blade-holding hand, locking the hero tight. But the hero retaliated with a roundhouse, only for the beast to snap his leg with its jaws before beginning to tear him in two. 

Suddenly, he relocated just below its armpit, wrestling the galaxy blade in its claws and driving it toward its throat. Yharon roared, mangling its own talon to tear free from the blade, then snapped a curled claw into the hero’s face before swiping his tail and launching the Terrarian away. 

      Yharon warped behind the hero, blasting him away with a blast of dragon’s breath. Repeating the attack, the beast ricocheted our hero around like a one-player game of table tennis—ripping his armor apart, then his health by the second. 

Finally, the phoenix whipped its tail, blasting him downward at the speed of death, before blitzing after him and bull-charging toward our hero—who snapped into a recovery— 

He took in a red potion, his armor rematerializing bit by bit as he dashed toward the dragon with his aegis. 

The Terrarian pushed through the beast’s scales, heavy and strong through the beast guts, pushing harder and harder until he finally pierced— 

      Yet— 

His momentum slowed, and his effort only... 

      Nudged... 

              Yharon... 

      ...cooed, unimpressed by the hooman’s desperate attempt to trick him. Yharon warbled; just as the Terrarian dashed forward, Yharon had already slowed mid bull-rush, falling with the hero just before the aegis dash—perfectly catching the man's shield in Yharon’s claw, as if hooman were no more than a... 

                  Chewed-up fetch toy . 

      His aegis shattered... 

Dragging the Terrarian from his stunned stupor as the sound rang out like the crack of a falling star— 

Just as Yharon's talons clenched around him. A breathless moment passed—silent, still—before the dragon surged forward. 

With all his might, Yharon drove his molten, golden horns into the hero’s chest. 

The impact wasn't just physical—it was spiritual. His infernal flame, radiant and ancient, screamed from within, flooding the Terrarian with a force unlike anything the world had ever known. It wasn't heat. It wasn't cold. It was something beyond both. A temperature that twisted reality—impossible to define, yet all-consuming. 

The Terrarian's body swelled with the overwhelming energy, light and pressure leaking from every seam in his form. Cracks of pure brilliance laced through him like lightning frozen in glass. 

And then— 

Before our sun would dawn again on this land... 

                          ...A new one was born. 

      It flared into existence not above, but from within—an orb of brilliance far more radiant than our own. It bloomed with divine colors no mortal eyes had ever seen, hues that had no names, no comparisons. For one brief, sacred moment, the sky remembered what beauty was. Blue returned—pure, endless, and true. 

But only for a moment.  

           Darkness swept across everything. 

              The world was silenced, swallowed whole in a pitch-black pause... 

         Then came the flash. 

      A pulse of light exploded from the epicenter—so blinding, so vast, that even the stars on the furthest edge of the cosmos trembled. It didn’t just illuminate. It declared. 

Even if someone had survived the blow, the nova that followed would have unmade them. No flesh, no stone, no soul could withstand its judgment. 

What remained surged outward—not in fire, but in wonder. A shockwave of celestial auroras swept the planet, spiraling around it a thousand times over. 

 The skies danced with color; a stellar memory etched into the fabric of the world itself ｡ ｡   ｡   ｡   

                                ｡  ｡  ｡  So, no one ｡ ｡ 

                                                        ｡  ｡  would ever forget ｡    ｡     ｡   

                ⋆    ｡   ✧°     ☁︎       ✧˖°.    ⋆｡ ✧° ˖°.    ‧      ₊˚✩. ˚. ☁︎⋆｡ ✧ ° ☁︎ ✧˖°. ‧₊˚✩. ˚. ☁︎  ⋆｡ ✧°             ☁︎ ✧˖°  . ✧° ☁︎                      ✧˖°. ‧₊  ˚  ✩  . ˚. ☁︎⋆｡ ✧°‧₊˚ ☁️          ⋅𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.     

⋆ ｡   ✧ ° ☁︎ ✧ ˖°.         ‧₊˚✩    . ˚. ☁︎⋆｡ ✧ ° ☁︎   ✧˖°    .   ☾‧₊˚✩. ˚. ☁︎⋆｡ ✧         ° ☁︎ ✧˖°. ‧₊˚✩. ˚.   ☁︎⋆｡   ✧° ☁︎    ✧˖° 

~‧₊˚ ☁️࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧ ₊˚      ☁️⋅       𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾  . ⋆   ｡   ✧ ° ☁︎ ✧  ˖°.    ‧₊˚   ✩    . ˚. ☁︎   ⋆｡ ✧ ° ☁︎ ✧˖°.   ☾‧₊˚✩    . ˚. ☁︎⋆｡   ✧   ° ☁︎    ✧˖°. ‧₊˚✩    . ˚. ☁︎⋆｡       ✧° ☁︎ ✧    ˖°. ‧₊  ˚ ✩. ˚. ☾☁︎⋆｡ ✧° ☁︎ ✧˖°. ‧₊˚✩  . ˚. ☁ ︎ ⋆｡ ✧° ☁︎       ✧˖°. ‧₊  ˚✩   . ˚.                        ☁︎ ~               ~                 ~                     ~                         ~                        ~                                                                                                          ~ 

      The dust stirred from the floor, brushing against the scent of scorched asphalt as talons scraped lightly across it before the ashes blew away. 

The phoenix dragon snorted, dispersing the floating debris, then raised his head to gaze at the northern lights dancing across the summer night. 

Before the beast could close its eyes, it breathed in—long and slow. 

      “…Still breathing?” came a voice—dry, hoarse, but steady. 

      Yharon cooed, turning to meet the boy, whose armor of amber was battered and broken. The sweat from battle had matted his hair, which hung messily from his shoulders. He dropped his helmet, walking up to the mighty creature with a weary step, raising his hand while his head drooped in exhaustion.  

Yharon leaned in, nudging him gently. They stood in the midst of a war-torn, battlefield, surrounded by barricades and cratered earth. Fire still lingered in patches, and the air hung thick with the scent of soot and melted metal. Shredded flags clung weakly to splintered poles like ghosts.  

      “That was...quite the predicament,” the boy muttered, running a hand across Yharon’s side. The skin on his hand bore the texture of an old burn—healed but still marked, a permanent reminder. It wasn’t grotesque, but enough to leave a quiet sense of fragility in the air.  

They sat together at the edge of a massive crater as armored figures, dressed similarly to the boy, moved through the aftermath, minding their own business.  

The boy exhaled, the sound somewhere between pain, fatigue, and quiet relief. He leaned into Yharon’s warm, smoldering coat, allowing himself to sink into the comfort.  

      “I thought I... I’d lost you, bud,” he muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips. “That was rather bold of you... though... would've been legendary if you were dead.” 

Yharon responded with a warbling chatter, his eyes rolling in dry protest. The boy chuckled despite the ache in his ribs, the sound short and winded.  

    “It won’t be easy… hereafter.”  

The boy glanced up.  

    “Would you like to name what you just did?”  

Yharon perked up at the question as the boy continued, his tone dry but sincere. 

      “Then we’ve got something to call that bold stunt of yours—makes combat coordination less of a mouthful, yes?” The boy awaited his friend’s response, which came as a light shrug and a wiggle of feathered scales. 

      “Then how about… Auric-whelming Blast! ” The boy flung his arms wide, like the brilliance of the name alone could light the skies.  

Yharon snorted. Hard. 

      “What? You did pour your Auric force into those usurpers until they over-inflated and popped—” He paused, blinking as if struck by a bolt of inspiration . 

      “Since you don’t like that,” he said, jabbing a finger at the feathery titan, “I’ve got a better one.” 

He crossed his arms, letting the anticipation simmer— humble in posture, smug in spirit.  

      “ In-Flame-Tion !” 

Yharon recoiled with a soft, rumbling groan—equal parts disgust and disbelief at the horrendous wordplay. That was the name this boy dared suggest for a phoenix dragon self to carry? 

      “Oh, come on,” the boy said, his voice laced with disbelief, as he tried to hold back his frustration. “You must consider it! In-fla-tion and Flame—think about it! Your foe swells and then burst into flames! It’s brilliant!” 

      Yharon could only deepen his soft grumble, turning all his ears away from the boy’s endless rambling about how his genius madness had led him to believe that punny names were fitting for a majestic creature like the dragon self. 

Soon, the boy finally relented, after the phoenix had shut off all hearing, and sighed, wiggling his head. "As you wish, Your Ma-Jes-Ty."  

      Yharon ignored his attitude, responding with a quiet, dismissive bark, before the boy sunk into the dragon’s coat. His hand lazily worked to remove his armor, his mind clearly elsewhere.  

      "Could you at least form an opinion on the matter?" Yharon shrugged before continuing his soft, grumbling purr. It was clear he didn’t care about the name, as long as it wasn’t ridiculous . 

      "How is—" the boy stopped himself, "How is not ridiculous an idea? That’s just bound—Haaa..." His outburst was short-lived, and he fell back into the warmth of the dragon, who now laid down in peaceful relaxation. 

Looking into the boy’s eyes, it wasn’t just the brilliant—if not outright absurd—names swirling like a storm in his head. No. It was far more than that. 
This was a boy not only leading an army vast enough to conquer the world, but bold enough to inspire every last soul in it—to stand with him as he defied the gods themselves. 

Responsibility weighed heavy. 
Maintaining that trust was another challenge entirely. He had to remain righteous in the eyes of the warriors who followed him. It was no longer just an army. Somewhere along the way, without intention, he had built a kingdom—fierce and perhaps even barbaric. 

And with that kingdom came the level-headed whispers of politics—dreaded, skeptical, and waiting to pick apart every decision made by someone still so young.  

Worse still, maintaining his bond with the dragon—his only family left—was deeply personal, profoundly important. And yet, to split himself between the selfish and the selfless… was no easy task. 
There was never enough time. 
Never enough of him to go around. 

And the weight he carried—  

he wore it well, but it was heavy all the same.  

Tearing off that weight—that burden—was an impossible dream of the kings and the wise. But for a boy like him…  

      “Overburdin,” he muttered.  

      Yharon raised all his feathered brows at the absurdity. A warbled scoff nearly slipped out, but this time, he held it in—waiting, for once, to let the boy explain himself.  

      “Have you ever felt... like firming against a black hole—when really... just lying on a moon? Or balancing a tilted seesaw with an imbalanced scale, while slipping in the middle?” Yharon listened as the boy continued.   

      “Weighting the scale with a mental note of having to be on the tilted saw... As you stabilize yourself on the fulcrum” The boy’s introspection dragged the thought inward—deep into Yharon’s mind, where it circled, coiling around something he hadn’t yet admitted.  

      “A trial where both fool and sage agree to fall—for failure is the resolution. But beings like you—” The boy jabbed his finger deep into Yharon’s feathers, “—rather not care, because anything goes.” 

      Yharon scoffed, releasing a sharp puff—but regret for owns’ attitude slipped into ridiculous trial that swirl in the boy’s mind. 

Surely, a challenge like that would be light work for beings like the divine self. 

Wouldn’t it? 

      “But all of that should help you understand the feelings—the burden, yes?”  

      Yes. 

Yharon could understand where the boy was coming from. Pursuing the Terrarian from taking the fated duel held two meanings: 

He didn’t care for the boy enough to have faith in letting him fulfill his belief—or cared too much to bear the thought of living an eternity without him. 

It was a choice Yharon had made knowing he couldn’t win, one that left him feeling trapped—unable to move, though movement was still possible. The dragon felt... lost. 

      “But maybe,” the boy said, “there’s a way to lift it off our shoulders... Overburdin —the move you pulled to defeat that usurper. You let the burden he placed on you become his own to endure. Let the weight crush the one who laid it.” 

      “Where we are... Yharon’s jade eyes gazed into the boy, who only smirked at the dragon.  

      "...Relaxing in a crater. Relieved of the weights of worry..." 
      Yharon leaned into the thought. The battle had been hard-fought—no, a war. The pressure from the god they had faced, the duty they bore to their soldiers, had been suffocating, each moment heavy with expectation. 

But then, with the deity defeated, a sudden light settled their nerves—warm and comfortable.  

      The boy, in this fleeting moment of peace, shared in the relief with Yharon. Yet even here, where the world seemed to pause, 
      Yharon’s heart thudded uneasily. 
His mind, still branded, tattooed with the haunting silhouette of that man. 

      “…Though comforts like that are mostly short-lived for us.” The boy continued, allowing his best friend to lean into his warmth. He caressed the beast’s racing mind, soothing the turmoil that crooned at the touch as their gazes met. 

      “Not all weights disappear with our enemies. Some linger—pushing us to keep searching outside for a source, even when there is naught…” 

      “In those cases, I just... close my eyes, seeking within, lost in the labyrinth of my thoughts. While the burden chases after my consciousness, I dive deeper. And as I reach the center of my mind, the weight compresses around me, folding into one. There, in the singularity, I find clarity.” 

Despite the roaring of his heart and lungs scraping for air, Yharon shut the world out. Shut out the boy—his master—the comfort of his warmth. He folded into the silent dark, where only breath and heartbeat kept him company. He focused on how fresh the air could be. He inhaled—deep—savoring the taste of tranquility. Then exhaled, and welcomed another wave of stillness. 

His heart was calmed—but not tamed. The shadow of the Terrarian brushed past his mind like a ghost, sending a cold shiver through every feather until he froze. Tense. Then he stretched every fiber of himself and let the tension melt away. Still, the storm in his mind raged like a thousand crashing moons. 

What if Yharon stopped pursuing the Terrarian? 

Wouldn’t that mean more time with his master? 

He believed in the boy’s belief—that no one is invincible. Was that the reason Yharon had pursued the Terrarian? Faith? Or doubt? Doubt that the warrior was invincible? 

He believed in his master. Or… was that a lie? 

From all the battles he had fought, all the pain he had endured—he knew. The Terrarian was too—No. 

        No.  

   He would not let that chew toy of fate be the bane of his hope. 

…And yet, maybe it was a lie. Because now, he lacked faith. Maybe all he had left was the desperate hope that his master would win the fated duel. That his vengeance would be fulfilled. That the one who started all of this would fall. 

Had Yharon gone too far to mend it all? 

      Yes. 

      But he had already abandoned the path his master walked—so far now that there was no stopping. Still, he believed he could mend it. He had to. He would. 

Yharon opened his eyes. 

And the world returned in clarity—fogged only slightly by lingering doubt. But he would not let it take him again. 

His heart was steady. 

      “The feeling of being unburdened surely is amazing, huh...” His hand gently caressed the scaly feathers as the dragon heaved a vibrant, contented sigh. 

      “And it seems like the sky’s beautiful for a flight, right, bud?” The boy breathed, lost in the delightful thought.  

Yharon warbled softly, soaking in the fragile peace—the faith he had restored in the boy. 

                      “Right?”

                              the boy said again.  

          The word held Yharon still for a heartbeat. 

      Then, slowly, his breath eased. His chest relaxed. 

   The dragon snorted— 

 Suddenly, Yharon flung itself somersault into a vertical wiffle just high enough that its spread-out searing gold wing tip is just inches from the ground, sharp and deadly.  

The man with the crimson blade could only catch the beast’s gaze as it watched the warrior slide into its anchored, imbued wing, smooth as an apple slipping through a katana. 

      Yharon let out a low growl, eyes narrowing as it flexed its sharp maw. How laughable that the Terrarian thought he could catch a beast like Yharon off-guard. 

Our bisected hero slowly blurred, the crimson blade slipping from his grasp and landing in another’s— 

Before Yharon could even caw, recovering from its whiffled stance, the blade was swiftly sheathed. The hand gripped the scabbard, a finger pressing gently against the trigger. Just as the Phoenix Dragon’s shadowed form flickered, embers scattering in the gold, amber, and fire, the katana shot out—faster than Yharon could transform back, faster than the sunlight that had already returned before the sound of shotgun. 

The dragon’s eyes slowly blurred, fogging up as they were blinded by the sunlight gleaming off the hero’s crimson blade. Then his body fell, his vision drawn upward to stare at the deep blue sky that seemed to ask him one question. 

Right?  

ㅤㅤo○⃝°                                          

O                                                                                  

                                                                                   ˚                                                    

                                                                                                                                                      ｡  

                                                                                          . 

                                                                                  .

...Yes... 

Resplendent Phoenix, Yharon has been defeated  

─── Unless we get ahead of ourselves─── 

      The lights slowly gleamed into the darkness, unveiling the shine of the blue sky as cold sizzled down with the cool, relaxing wind. It felt like resting in heaven. 

Yet darkness persisted—looming over the warm light as it painted the silhouette of a figure. The shadow slowly sharpened until it revealed a prison made of armor, staring down. 

Then came the sounds: a hefty breath, unrhythmically heaving and puffing with pain. The taste of magma blood dripped and seared into the asphalt cracks. Steam burst from the dying body heat of a dragon. 

The Terrarian stared down at the beast, raising a blood-stained crimson katana. The blade gleamed in silhouette within the green eyes of the beast, which gazed up at our hero. 

An expression—he could see it in the phoenix’s emerald eyes. An expression... he didn’t understand. For he had never known such things. From the moment he chopped down his first tree, the world met his sight—that was all there was. Everything after, all the monsters he had slain, were nothing but distant echoes. Means to an end. Progress was all that ever mattered. 

Yet— 

That expression stirred something. Made him flinch, though he did not jump. Like a baby ant biting down on flexed muscle. 

The amber dragon’s pupils shifted—no longer slits, but slightly oval. Its breath grew stronger, then softened to a fading whisper. And just before the blade rose overhead— 

The dragon let out a final, gurgling moan, then closed all its eyes and slumped down. 

Exposing its neck to the man. 

      And down, came the bloodstained guillotine...  

      q...                   ɘ...                 ʀ....               ɘ...               v...         ɘ...         ᴚ....      

      A soundwave crashes upon the shores of space and time, breaking apart the sands of reality. 

  The chill of a moaning world slithers down the nerves of our hero, halting the ritual of execution. 
He turns, and above, the sky brims—singing a song of... impending. 

The wound in the heavens vibrates with that music, a soundwave nearing climax. 
The world hums. 
A ripple bursts softly—crimson, shaped as four-pointed stars. 

Lightning, the color of blood, crackles from the wound. 
The ripple remains, trembling in the air—until a foot, wrapped in pale bandages, steps forward. Then another. 

Slender legs emerge. A garment uncoils from her thighs, trailing down her calves. Red and white strips of cloth, like divine petals, spiral in the air and gather around her waist and chest—blooming over her breast like a flower untouched by time. 

Though shaped as a woman, she bears no sign of mortal flesh—no navel, no flaw, no division. 

Her form steams gently, as if the air itself parts in reverence. 
She wears the suggestion of a skirt—not unlike a dryad's—but laced with something holier. Something... untouchable. 

She turns her neck slightly, nestling into the dark fur ringed at her collar. 
Her left-hand glows—etched in a gauntlet of rippling blood and ever-shifting cubes, like reality fracturing with every wave. 

Behind her, the ripple brightens—yellow now, more than red—before it splits again. 
Three stars. 
Each with a hollow circle at its heart. 
A silent invitation. 
Or perhaps... a challenge. 

      Yharon's wonder pulled his gaze upward, halting the execution he had once been sure of. 
Slitted pupils narrowed as he stared at the silhouette of the grim armor—The Terrarian—whose own eyes, sharper still, were fixed not on him, but on the being floating above. 

The dragon growled low, steam curling from his maw in slow, hissing breaths. 
His eyes traced the newcomer—her garments unfamiliar, woven with cultures and traditions he had never known. Symbols foreign, sacred, maybe ancient. 
Another god from distant lands? Come to stir the stars like the eldritch lord before? 

      He could not tell. His body, however, answered first—releasing a guttural snarl without thought. Instinct. 

But then—the crimson blade sparked against the fractured asphalt before him. 
Not at Yharon. Not at her. 
The Terrarian did not move, even in the face of godhood, even as the sky itself bowed to her presence. 

      For threats meant nothing to him—not even those vast enough to paint the night sky in their shape. 

And neither does she. Her white hair brushed a shadow around her alluring golden eyes, narrowing with quiet intensity. 

Her other hand, scarred down to her mid-forearm, shaped into thin, four-pointed stars that lined her arm like an intricate birthmark. Fingers spread, and a burst of starlight erupted into a cube of red and yellow. 

Armor appeared behind her even before the red and yellow cube could fully overtake the hero’s prior position. The crimson blade split through her head like a cleave down a cabbage— 

His katana was suddenly enveloped in a net of miniature cubes as the figure sidestepped, evading his counter. 

      The Terrarian tugged at his blade, but it didn’t move. He didn’t ask why. She noticed. 

Then, cubes swarmed him, faster and larger than he could track—he didn’t know where they came from but who controlled them. Closed in like the tentacles of a kraken on a rowboat, swift and deadly, piercing through the air. 

Pulling with the intent to cut, the blade sparked as it carved a sheath out of the net of miniature cubes, its shape forming before he rushed forward, weaving through the tentacles. His tracers whipped through the air, scattering bits of divine debris that flew past her narrowed eyes. 

The warrior landed on a nearby railway, the crimson blade in his hand raised like a triumphant symbol in the battle of strength. 

      But what about the battle of tricks? 

The blade felt light in his grip as he realized the blood had vanished. The miniature cubes slowly began to strip away pieces of the handle, one by one, until the entire crimson blade dissolved into golden sparks, leaving only his empty gun-sheath... 

    Grieving time is a luxury the hero isn't afforded.  

      The tentacles lurch, cube-woven and synchronized, closing in from every side. But the Terrarian flows between them—elegant, deliberate—until his dodge spins two cube-tacles into each other with a crunch. 

In a flash, his weapon shifts— violet inferno scimitar in hand—scattering a burning barrage at the goddess. 

She raises a wall of cubes. Red. Yellow. Absolute. They absorb the cursed blaze in silence. 

Then—her pupils narrow. Flexing her arms back. 

A hammeraxe crashes into her rhombus-shaped force shield. Just as she braces to strip it from him, a comet —blazing like a star loosed from the Milky Way— collides with her cube wall. The shockwave wipes the sky clean of dust. 

She staggers. Not from the power, but from what she sees: 
A galaxy blade, carving through her shield. Growing brighter. Brighter—Explosion. 
Too late. She lets the shield dissolve. The Terrarian lunges forward, straight into— 

A tsunami of cubes, swallowing him whole. Folding inward. 
Compressing. 

A golden tesseract now rests in her palm. Shrinking. Still glowing. 

Yharon grunts low. Impressed. Alert. Then scoffs—fluffing his charred feathers. 
Then his stare caught on hers. And her gaze… 

Snaps— 
He's there. Violet scimitar inches from her throat. 

Cubes burst between them, blasting him skyward. He rockets into the darkening clouds. 

The red and yellow cubes chase, clustering to seize him. 

But the Terrarian ignites—faster than their hunt. 
He spirals upward, higher, beyond heaven itself, until he lands— 
—the final skyrail he built. The highest. 

His engine shrieks. 
His helm ignites. 
Eyes blazing. Starving. 

He dives— 
Meteor. 

Cubes rise to meet him. 

He spins in the descent—f lips. Crouches. Foot coiled. Came...  

        Dropkick.  

                    Impact.  

      The tsunami of cubes erupts—screaming as their red veins glow gold. 
   The golden energy floods downward, like momentum through a tile-stack of stone. 
Each cube it touches shatters—feeding the engine—driving harder, deeper.  

    A golden flash burst before her, an image of an unholy hungry serpent glimpse into her mind.  

By the time the goddess could think about it— 

      — Tracers.  

                            Underboot.  

      Her eyes freeze— 
The Terrarian explodes down in one final, God-splitting— 

            BOOM.  

      Yharon buried his snout into the asphalt as the shockwave engulfed him. 

Then came a painful sneeze as the dragon looked up through the fog of debris, his emerald eyes widening. 

      The Terrarian’s feet were caught in—merged into—the cube. Or had the cube merged into him? 
Our hero lost his balance and fell as the cube spread up to his thighs. He raised his summoned hammeraxe and bashed at the cubes that wouldn’t stop coming. They climbed to his waist. Then, with a sickening thud, his hammer lodged into one—stuck—and the infection spread into his entire right arm. 

Helpless, the warrior flailed his left hand, warping through a blur of items, potions, objects—flowers, torches, weapons, and... tools— 
A pickaxe. 

The green and orange hues of the jungle bloomed in a blur of speed. And before the Terrarian could fall the last few meters, his entire body was freed. He flipped onto his feet as the cube-blocks clattered onto the asphalt ground. 

      The Terrarian watched as a lone cube slowly slithered toward him. He turned his head, curious, and picked it up. 

It glowed red—brimming with a star shape—then shifted into pulsing patterns, repeating. 

Similar palm-sized cubes around him floated, then, in a snap, merged into the one in his hand—until there was only a single cube. 

But the cube didn’t hold his interest for long. 
Not like the divine figure in front of him—arms spreading forward, flexing, reaching— 

Reaching specifically for the cube in his hand, which refused to budge to her control. 

Suddenly, the cube in his palm warped into a blur of items until it settled into a weapon. 
The Terrarian raised his pickaxe in one hand—and a blade in the other. 

Across from him, the unknown god summoned an uncountable number of cubes, which hovered and orbited around her like moons of war. 

      Yharon watched in anticipation from afar, breathing heavily. He was tired, thirsty... and a bit hungry. 

They both moved. 

She launched a wave of cubes forward, obliterating his position—only for him to reappear behind her, slashing down with inferno scimitars. She dodged. 

He swung his pickaxe and knocked away a batch of cubes, then charged with his aegis. It smashed against a wall of cubes. 
He reeled back, somersaulting out of their grasp, batting away a few more Cube-tacles with his tool— 
Only to be slapped aside by a sneaky one from the goddess—her cubes then surround and engulfed him— 

Instinct drove her to raise a force shield—just in time to block an upper slash from the Terrarian. 

He lunged again, this time trying to gouge her eyes with his pickaxe. 

But he met only cubes, and they hurled him back into a crushing wall of shifting mass. 

Crimson rage and verdant thunder coursed through his nerves as adrenaline surged. 
Unfeelable pain. Unshakable will. 
He mined through the red depths—A living drill against the goddess’s cage. 

A sliver of light remained—just enough for him to catch a line of sight with her golden eyes. 

He dashed forward, drop-kicking as the cubes burst open before her—Before her, the one made of  cubes. 

A jaw of cubes snapped—shut around him once more. 

He looked around— 
A gap of sunlight. 
Her eyes. Meeting his. 

On instinct, he threw his hammer-axe straight through the narrowing gap before it could close. 

Unfortunately, the Hammer-axe of Thor missed her—by just a sliver. And just as it turns back and went around— 

      The sound of mining from within the shrinking mass grew quieter. 

          Lower. 

              Then— 

                      Silence.  

          The goddess stood, victorious, the small golden tesseract pulsing in her palm. 

      While his hammer-axe slowly fell and lodged itself into the asphalt, still... 

    The world went silent, as the wind whispered a speechless song through winter’s hair. 
She stood, observing the vast battlefield stretched around her—heaven-piercing pillars, sky-bound railways leading to nowhere, and a massive flatland paved in scorched asphalt. 

      Yet... something beneath the dark soil began to heave. 

      Yharon curled into himself, his volcanic ash feathers cocooning tightly, sealing in the last flickers of infernal flame leaking from his body. Not only to protect himself, but to blend into the black hue of the asphalt—becoming one with the charred earth. 

He breathed more steadily, swallowing his own blood—gurgling as it slipped back into his core. In this state, his body began to shut down nonessential organs, redirecting every reserve toward healing the fatal wounds. His mind followed suit, descending slowly toward something like sleep... or perhaps, a long and vulnerable hibernation— 

    "At ease," her voice said. 

      Yharon snarled in pain and shock, his eyes snapping open to the god standing before him. 

Her feet tapped softly on the hot asphalt as she inched closer to the beast. Yharon let out a low, guttural growl. Still, she raised both hands slowly and looked into his emerald eyes, blinking deliberately to show she lowered her guard. Her hand reached forward, gently grazing the soot-black feathers. 

The snarl faded from Yharon's throat. But trust? That wasn’t something he gave easily. 

She closed her eyes, then opened them again slowly—as if to show him her vulnerability. Her fingers moved toward the wound on his side. 

She understood. He was not a monster—he was a wounded, frightened beast. Alone. Cornered. Yet within him stirred a terrifying power. A power she could feel. Perhaps, she thought—just perhaps—he could be use— 

The air exploded in a cloud of dust. 

As the dust cleared, Yharon's talon scraped against the golden cube in her hand—the same one that had reached for his wound. His horns were locked against her rhombus-shaped shield, now flickering with golden energy. 

      She exhaled slightly, unimpressed. 

The cubes burst forth—exploding into light—and began crawling up his talons, then spreading quickly across his body. Consuming him. 

                                               Yharon let out one final, thunderous roar.